


Dark Secrets of the Nidaime

by secondmeteor



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 10:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondmeteor/pseuds/secondmeteor
Summary: Tobirama has a secret; a secret which, try as he might, he can never escape. His hairstyle is actually a bowl cut.





	Dark Secrets of the Nidaime

“Hold still, Tobirama! I can’t make a clean cut if you keep squirming like that.”

  
Senju Tobirama, second son of the leader of the fiercest shinobi clan in the Land of Fire, pouted but tried to still his uncomfortable fidgeting. His brother might be skilled with a kunai, but he was unfortunately not as proficient at cutting hair. Still, Tobirama felt he couldn’t complain: his options for haircutting were limited to Hashirama or their Great-Aunt Hiroko, and at least Hashirama wouldn’t pinch his cheeks and coo about how _adorable_ he looked with his _fluffy_ hair. At seven years old, Tobirama considered himself above such indignities. Luckily Hashirama had agreed to step in; however, escaping Great-Aunt Hiroko’s embarrassing coddling sadly did not mean escaping her hair-cutting methods. Hashirama, after all, had his hair cut by the same person, and thus knew only the one technique: place a bowl upside down over the victim’s head and snip all hair poking out of said bowl. Still, Tobirama had to admit he was trying his best.

  
Tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration, Hashirama carefully clipped at the hair around one ear, making Tobirama wince. “Not too short, Anija! I don’t want it looking exactly like the bowl, alright?”

  
Hashirama brandished his scissors, a little too enthusiastically, in Tobirama’s opinion. “You don’t want it to be longer than your face plate, do you? So I have to cut it at least this short, see?”

  
“It’s a forehead protector,” mumbled Tobirama. And it was really cool, an excellent find in the Senju armory, even if it was a bit too big for him at the moment. He was kind of pleased his brother had remembered this new addition to his look. Hashirama wasn’t terribly…observant…when it came to fashion – this much was obvious just from looking at him, if Tobirama was honest. Tobirama didn’t consider himself to be overly concerned with looks either, really, but he did feel that when charging into battle, it helped to have a cool look to impress and possibly intimidate the enemy. Plus, he was the second of four brothers; how was he supposed to distinguish himself? A cool forehead protector definitely didn’t hurt.

  
What _did_ hurt was having his hair cut into the shape of a bowl, especially as the cut-off bits of hair kept prickling Tobirama’s shoulders. “Anija, are you almost done?”

  
“I’d be finished sooner if you’d stop moving your head so much!”

  
Tobirama sighed but resigned himself to endure. Hashirama could not understand the difficulties of having such strong and wiry hair; _his_ hair was thin and soft, and didn’t stab him painfully during haircuts.

  
Finally, Hashirama gave a final snip and removed the bowl with a flourish. “All done!” With the hand not holding the scissors he gave Tobirama’s freshly cut hair an annoying ruffle.

  
“Anija!” Tobirama batted his brother’s hands away so he could mess up his own hair _properly_. Here at last was the advantage to having strong hair: unlike Hashirama’s hair, which laid flat on his head and kept the unfortunate bowl shape, Tobirama’s hair always stood up in spikes. Once the bowl released his head, there was no way anyone could guess that his haircut was actually the same as his brother’s. Yes, Tobirama was really one of the lucky ones – not like poor little Itama, whose hair was spiky on one side and bowl-shaped on the other.

  
“Is it alright? I’m not sure I got it completely even…” Hashirama’s concerned face appeared behind Tobirama’s in the mirror.

  
“It’s a bit shorter than I wanted,” Tobirama complained.

  
His brother instantly slumped. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried this,” he mumbled, “Maybe if we asked Great-Aunt Hiroko…”

  
“NO! Uh, I mean, it’s fine, Anija! It looks fine. I like it!”

  
Hashirama immediately snapped out of his sad pose and straightened with a grin. “I’m so glad you like it, little brother!” While Tobirama was still groaning inwardly at falling for one of his brother’s dramatic acts, he reached out a hand to muss Tobirama’s hair a second time. Hashirama neatly dodged his little brother’s retaliating swipe and skipped out of the room, calling, “Happy to help out anytime!”

  
With an exasperated huff, Tobirama examined his hair in the mirror one last time. His brother had managed to get the sides mostly even, at least, and the spikes were short enough that they’d stand up unless they were soaking wet. Yes, it could definitely be worse…the evidence of the bowl was well hidden. This would do for now.

 

* * *

  
It was five years before the cycle of bowl-shaped haircuts was broken – and shockingly, it was broken by none other than Hashirama.

  
“Tobirama,” he said absently, one foot swinging absently off of the tree branch where he was perched, “I’ve been thinking.”

  
Normally Tobirama would not have honoured this statement with more than an offhand “huh”; after all, his brother was always coming up with crazy ideas, which more often than not were completely nonsensical. But today, Tobirama put down his practice sword and walked up the tree trunk to join his brother. It had been four days since the confrontation with Uchiha Tajima and his sons at the river, and ever since Hashirama had been acting strange and distant. Tobirama guessed he was mostly upset at losing his secret friendship with that Uchiha boy, but maybe….he was also angry with Tobirama for following him and revealing the secret to their father. He hadn’t said as much – Tobirama was sure his brother understood; he’d been putting himself in danger meeting with an unknown shinobi like that; Tobirama had just been trying to protect him – but he had certainly been acting a bit cold towards his younger brother. So for once, Tobirama would be glad to listen to Hashirama spin one of his crazy ideas, as long as it meant he was returning to his old self.

  
Hashirama waited until his brother was seated on the tree branch to say, staring seriously into the middle distance, “Do you think I should grow out my hair?”

  
Tobirama almost fell out of the tree. _Hashirama_? Concerned about his hair? “What gave you that idea?” he asked in astonishment.

  
“I don’t know…I’ve just been thinking, my hairstyle is kind of lame, isn’t it?” Hashirama replied, still looking off into the distance. “I just…think it would look kind of cool a bit longer. Wouldn’t you say?”

  
With the initial shock of such a statement from _Hashirama_ beginning to wear off, Tobirama was suddenly struck by the possibilities. Sure, Hashirama probably would look cool with longer hair; as a caring younger brother, Tobirama supported this plan. But even more intriguingly, wouldn’t Tobirama himself look intimidating with longer hair? An image of himself charging into battle, long grey hair flying behind him like the mane of a wolf, flashed through his mind.

  
“Absolutely, Anija! I think that’s a great idea,” Tobirama enthused, forgetting for a moment his usual cool demeanor in the excitement of freedom from bowl cuts. Hashirama turned to give him a suspicious stare, so he quickly amended, “Anything would be better than your haircut right now.” As predicted, that got a wounded yelp from his brother and one of his usual dramatic slumps. Tobirama tried and partially failed to suppress a grin. It was nice to get back to normal. “But I do think your hair might look better a little longer. Actually, maybe I’ll try growing mine out as well…”

  
At this, Hashirama dropped his depressed act as quickly as he’d assumed it. “You will, Tobirama? That’s great! But…” he paused, slinging an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Your haircut right now…is just so… _fluffy_!” Holding Tobirama down with one arm, he launched a vicious hair ruffle attack with the other hand. Tobirama shrieked and retaliated pushing by pushing Hashirama off the branch. He watched his brother land easily on his feet (as any half-decent shinobi would) and then collapse as if mortally wounded, moaning about betrayal and the inconceivable cruelty of little brothers, and smiled. Yes, it was nice to get back to normal.

  
Although, he wouldn’t complain if _normal_ were to be improved slightly by the addition of an impressive new long hairstyle. Even his brother might cut a striking figure, Tobirama thought, watching Hashirama roll around on the ground, if he somehow managed to keep the leaves out of his hair.

 

* * *

  
Three months later, Tobirama had to admit that to his surprise, he’d actually been right: Hashirama _did_ look cool with long hair. Previously cut to his earlobes, Hashirama’s hair now just barely brushed his shoulders, and no longer held that awkward bowl shape Tobirama had always hated. His fine, straight locks somehow managed to shed most of the dirt and leaves it acquired during training, and always fell neatly into place. Hashirama had even sidestepped the awkward in-between stage of growing bangs by tying his hair back with his Senju headband, leaving only the few strands that wouldn’t get in his eyes. Tobirama had to admit, he kind of _did_ cut an impressive figure.

  
Tobirama’s hair, on the other hand.

  
He’s always been vaguely proud of his strong hair, which defied bowl cuts with its unruly spikiness. But now his hair was rebelling, and Tobirama was fighting a losing battle. The hairstyle he had envisioned for himself was dramatic, certainly – but he’d imagined this his hair would eventually start growing down, rather than out. A majestic spiked mane flowing over his shoulders, with perhaps some shorter pieces sticking up, like wolf’s fur – that was what he’d expected. But after three months, Tobirama was forced to face the fact that he did not resemble a wolf so much as he did a dandelion fluffball.

  
Every morning when Tobirama woke up, his hair poked him in the face. Every Suiton he performed left him with a facefull of wet hair that took hours to dry (he could dry it in seconds using a Fuuton, but the consequences in terms of the shape of his hair were…severe). His hair stuck out behind his forehead protector and itched him where the metal pressed it down. Combing it flat while wet worked, until his hair began to dry, at which point individual pieces began to spring up like antennae. Inevitably the whole mess just ended up standing in all directions, as if Tobirama were constantly charged with static electricity. Hashirama, whose Mokuton ability was progressing at leaps and bounds, had begun to produce large numbers of small, extremely spiky-looking bushes. He swore the resemblance was just a coincidence, and that he still couldn’t fully control his ability anyways, so how could he be making fun of his brother? But Tobirama did not find his innocent face at all convincing.

  
Now, Tobirama faced his uncooperative hair in the mirror. He’d woken up early to give himself plenty of time, and he was going to find a hairstyle that worked for him once and for all. Armed with comb, water, and hair ties, he got to work. First, he collected as much of his hair as he could manage behind his head and tied it firmly back; the ponytail protruded from his head at a forty-five-degree angle, but this was alright – surely it would start to flow downwards once it got a little longer. Next to deal with the large clumps of hair surrounding his face. The best method of suppressing those was probably to tie one bunch on either side, which would result in a bit of an old-fashioned look, he supposed, but one that would probably fit Tobirama well enough. Finally, he tied his forehead protector on and examined the result.

  
Not bad, Tobirama thought, not bad at all. All that gray hair gave him a look that was mature, maybe even fierce. Perhaps – here Tobirama indulged himself with a little imagination – he could even weaponize it, use it as a method of immobilizing his enemies. Certainly ‘hair no jutsu’ had been effective against him recently…but that was all in the past. Now his hair was out his way, and, if he did say so himself, looked pretty cool in the bargain.

  
As Tobirama considered his new look in the mirror, Hashirama came stumbling out of his room. Yawning, he glanced at Tobirama and paused a moment to take in the spectacle of Tobirama’s hair. “Looking good, little brother,” he remarked sleepily, and, infuriating older brother that he was, ruffled Tobirama’s hair on his way past.

  
The hair tie keeping the ponytail in place snapped. Freed, Tobirama’s hair fanned out behind his head like the tail of a particularly fluffy gray goose.

  
Tobirama gritted his teeth. “ _Anija_ ….”

 

* * *

  
By the end of the day, Tobirama had had enough. Clearly his hair was not suited to the longer styles (and hair no jutsu was a stupid idea anyways); it was time to return to a shorter haircut, but he hated to return to Hashirama’s less-than-skillful ministrations with the bowl. Thus, he found himself facing the mirror once again, this time with scissors in hand. He could do this himself. He just had to be careful…

  
He started with the sides, which were the easiest to reach and see in the mirror. He was methodical, trimming bit by bit until he reached the length he wanted, making sure he got both sides exactly even. Tobirama was pleased to see the short strands assuming their usual stylish upwards tilt; if he was honest with himself, that old-fashioned hairstyle hadn’t really suited him at all. And at last, no more hair stabbing him in the eyes every time he moved!

  
Now for the back. This part would be trickier, since Tobirama couldn’t exactly see the back of his head, but he was confident he could manage anyways. Shinobi could sense without vision, after all, and Tobirama was nothing if not a superb shinobi. Although, Tobirama thought as he felt the back of his head and began to tentatively snip at his hair, this would be much easier if he could just make a bunshin to cut his hair. A bunshin wouldn’t be able to hold the scissors, though, so…maybe some sort of solid bunshin? He’d have to experiment with that later.

  
Distracted with his half-formed plans for a revolutionary solid bunshin jutsu, Tobirama clipped at his hair – and suddenly came away with an extremely _large_ chunk of hair in his hand. He stared in disbelief. How had he managed to cut that much at once? Surely this would leave the back of his head looking –

  
Tobirama twisted around to try to see the back of his head in the mirror. Oh, this was bad: not only had he somehow managed to chop his hair drastically shorter on the left side than on the right, but he’d also taken out a massive clump right at the base of his skull. There was absolutely no way he could be seen like this; there was no chance his brother would ever let him live it down. Do not panic, Tobirama told himself. He had approximately ten hours before he was expected at the training grounds – not enough time for his hair to regrow, but perhaps enough time to come up with a plan.

 

* * *

  
When Tobirama arrived at the training grounds the next morning, Hashirama was already in full swing, jabbering at their father about some new jutsu he’d come up with (Tobirama wondered when his brother would realize that their father rarely listened). “ – And I was thinking about how if I could figure out how to get the plants to bloom all at the same time then maybe I could t – t – Tobirama?”

  
Tobirama crossed his arms and tried to look offhand. “Yes?”

  
“Why are you wearing a helmet?”

  
He’d been expecting this question from Hashirama, of course, and so he had several answers planned. Since their father was present, however, he discarded ‘it’s my new look’ and ‘so a shuriken won’t hit me in the head, idiot’ in favour of, “I want to start training with heavy armour on, so I can get used to the weight.”

  
Hashirama squinted at him suspiciously. “Where’s the rest of your armour, then?”

  
“I’m _already_ used to that,” Tobirama replied with his best eyeroll.

  
“Alright,” said Hashirama, clearly unconvinced by this explanation but unwilling to push the issue in front of their father. Though it seemed he’d dropped the question, Tobirama kept catching him sending concerned looks at him all throughout the training session. In fact, he was so distracted that Tobirama actually did better than him, in spite of the discomfort of the too-large and heavy helmet which was, unfortunately, Tobirama’s new look.

  
His older brother’s suspicion only grew when Tobirama didn’t remove the helmet after training. He continued to favour him with worried stares all throughout the afternoon, and all through dinner as Tobirama tried to figure out a graceful way to eat with the helmet on. Finally, after dinner, Hashirama dragged him aside.

  
“Why are you really wearing that helmet, Tobirama?”

  
Tobirama shrugged, trying to project a casual air. “I just thought it suited me, that’s all.”

  
“That’s all? Come on ,Tobirama. Are you going to sleep in that thing?” Hashirama’s expression was uncharacteristically grave, especially considering this somewhat ridiculous line of questioning. “Why won’t you take it off?”

  
“I like wearing it, okay? It's my new look.”

  
Hashirama frowned. “You’re not hiding an injury, are you?”

  
“No!”

  
“Then why won’t you show me what’s under the helmet?”

  
Clearly Hashirama wasn’t about to let this go. Tobirama sighed. “Fine, I’ll show you. Just promise me you won’t laugh.”

  
“I promise I won’t,” replied Hashirama, and he looked so serious that Tobirama almost believed him.

  
Tobirama brought his hands to his head, gave his brother a warning look that clearly said 'I dare you to say something about this', and lifted off the helmet. Hashirama said nothing for several long moments, and to his credit did not laugh, although his lips definitely twitched suspiciously. Finally, he asked, “You cut your own hair?”

  
Tobirama heaved a dejected sigh. “Yes. The long hair just wasn’t working out for me, Anija.”

  
“I can see that,” said Hashirama, lips twitching up dangerously now. “At least I know you’re not injured. Or did you accidentally stab yourself with the scissors as well?”

  
“Anija! You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

  
“Sorry, sorry! I won’t make fun of you, I promise. That was the last one,” Hashirama held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Want me to try to even it out a bit? Unless you really want to keep wearing that helmet all the time.”

  
Wearing that helmet had been a terrible idea, but Tobirama was not so sure that having Hashirama try to fix his hair was any better. Still, he supposed that his brother could hardly make it any worse. “Fine…”

  
Hashirama beamed. “Great! I’ll go get the bowl!”

  
Tobirama heaved another long sigh as Hashirama ran off. Despite his best efforts to escape, it seemed he was doomed to that bowl cut for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually can't remember where this idea came from - did I read it somewhere, or did it just spawn fully-formed out of stress-induced delirium? If you are the original owner of the Tobirama-has-a-bowl-cut headcanon, I'm truly sorry for unintentionally stealing your idea, but I hope you enjoyed the fic; please let me know who you are so I can thank you!  
> EDIT: It was this genius comic that gave me the idea! Thank you guys for the reminder! I knew I was in this fandom for a good reason.  
> https://inconveniencedneutrons.tumblr.com/post/171021442407/so-what-we-have-here-is-a-hashi-idea-a-wet-tobi


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